


A Marked Man

by telleroftynesidetales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telleroftynesidetales/pseuds/telleroftynesidetales
Summary: After Blaise makes a cheeky comment about Bellatrix, Draco takes him to Malfoy Manor to see if he is as brave when she is in the same room. Although the initial meeting is uneventful, Blaise soon learns that he bit off much more than he can chew.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	A Marked Man

The Entrance Hall’s comforting light had faded, shut out by a closed door. In the dimly lit space, the green lines on Blaise’s smoke gray pullover could just barely be seen. The visibility of the young man’s scholastic paraphernalia, however, was the least of his concerns.

“Yes, the Dark Lord will be pleased with your progress to the top of my rigorous course. You are quite the talented lad, Mr. Zabini.”

Professor Carrow’s slimy, ego-stroking words inspirited Blaise, urging him to memorize incantations for the Forbidden Curses. Silently, he rehearsed those dreadful words as his single-strapped black brogues carried him down a flight of pewter steps. Walking the dark corridor that led to his house’s hidden sanctuary, he stopped at an onyx wall and licked his plump lips.

“Pureblood.” 

Blaise’s voice was but a whisper. The hushed utterance of that discriminatory password caused the the wall to rumble. Sliding upward, it revealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Passing low-backed pickle green furniture and cedar wood cupboards, he followed the sound of feminine chuckles.

Draco Malfoy cuddled Pansy Parkinson on a silver leather sofa, his fingers tickling her thighs.

Drawing nearer, the warmth provided by wall-mounted heat lamps kissed Blaise’s brown skin. Their emerald luminescence radiated off the chains from which they hung.

“I had no idea this would become a brothel,” Blaise criticized, smirking.

“And what about you,” said Draco. “When are we even going to see you flirt with a girl? I’m beginning to think these high standards you have are a coverup.”

“Ask your aunt Bellatrix to visit us here at Hogwarts,” Blaise retorted.

Draco’s icy eyes narrowed. Pushing Pansy’s leg off of his lap, he stood and sized up the taller boy.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned, stepping closer.

“My mum taught me to have ambition. You don’t get seven dead husbands and a fortune without taking some risks,” sneered Blaise.

“Let’s put the advice of mother dearest to the test then,” Draco challenged. 

“He’ll be wishing he never knew her name,” laughed Pansy, readjusting her skirt. 

Draco ignored the girl’s comment. “Meet me at the Shrieking Shack in an hour. We’ll apparate to Malfoy Manor and I will make the introduction you’re dying to get.”

“Fine, but I haven’t got all evening,” Blaise said. “Professor Carrow wants me to buy a skull from Borgin and Burkes. Some of us still value our studies, you see.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
A stormy, midnight blue sky hovered over the entirety of Hogsmeade. Raindrops, however, seemed to only fall upon the abandoned house. Names of long-dead wizards were etched onto the lumber boards nailed to its dusty windows. Blaise did not care for the rumors surrounding the wretched dwelling, nor its popularity with students in his year.

“Malfoy’s filthy rich, but couldn’t pick a classier place to meet,” he complained, tightening the Slytherin scarf around his neck.

Bored, Blaise eyed the nails and splinters of the shack’s front door. They twinkled crimson every thirty seconds. A sudden, violent gust pushed him forward. His quill had fallen out of his uniform shirt’s chest pocket. He squatted, certain that the grimy bricks had called his name as he reached for it. The wind blew the quill farther toward the doorstep. He inched closer but ceased movement once a hand clamped onto his shoulder. 

“Doing a bit of ghost hunting, mate,” mocked Draco, sniggering. “Getting possessed by a poltergeist won’t get you out of this; you asked for it.”

Blaise arched a brow. “I wouldn’t waste my time with such nonsense. You’d be better off firing your snarky remarks at that blithering idiot Hagrid. Though I do wonder what’s there to hunt at Malfoy Manor.”

“You’ll learn soon enough,” Draco claimed, flaring out his elbow.

Grabbing hold, Blaise allowed himself to participate in a side-along apparition. In a blurry flash, the boys were transported to a remote location. 

Tucked away in Wiltshire, England, Malfoy Manor was magnificence defined. The white mansion was situated on lush, green grass. Tall hedges flanked its main walkway. Jade fountains were spread far and wide across the lawn. Pink and gold peacocks roamed the blueberry gardens freely, playfully splashing water and eating at will.

“Home sweet home,” taunted Blaise.

“You’re quite sure of yourself,” Draco noted. “No matter; my aunt’ll be wiping that grin off your face.” 

The handsome home’s dual glass doors opened at the snap of Draco’s fingers. A peppermint fragrance immediately filled their nostrils. They trod onto the black velvet carpet and heard frantic footsteps. A wheezing house-elf greeted them with a tray of exotic cheeses.

“Welcome back, master. Should Kough prepare a meal,” asked the tiny servant.

Draco popped a block of aged Muenster into his mouth. “No, that won’t be necessary. Go and fetch Miss Bella, quickly.”

Kough nodded and scurried around the corner. 

“I imagine these are your family members,” Blaise supposed, surveying the entrance hall’s pale-faced portraits. “Your genes are very strong.”

“I don’t have to tell you how important blood purity is. We take certain precautions to ensure our lineage isn’t diluted,” confirmed Draco, leaning against a marble wall.

“Word around Hogwarts is that your status makes you very popular with the Dark Lord. Pansy swears that he holds meetings here,” Blaise pried. “But it’s hearsay. Surely there are much more favorable families than one headed by a man who didn’t even look for him.”

Draco’s little mouth trembled in anger. “Would you like to see something reserved for special guests?”

“Sure, but I’ll be disappointed if it’s some old Quidditch trophy closet,” informed Blaise, appraising a suit of knight armor.

Draco led the way. They passed large mirrors and a stairwell ornamented with diamond gargoyle statues, turning left to walk through an off-white curtain. The duo had entered an expansive drawing room. Crystal chandeliers hung from its 30-foot high ashen ceiling. Heat was provided by clusters of yellow and orange flames flickering in the fireplace. 

“Why was this worth showing,” asked Blaise.

Draco rested his palms on a long, platinum table. “I wanted you to realize that, unlike you, I have a father who has established himself among the powerful. Do you want to know what else my father does in this very room?”

A loud pipe organ key interrupted their conversation. Standing in the doorway was a barefoot woman with heavy-lidded mahogany eyes and flowing, kinky hair. She wore a black satin nightgown and a choker that featured a dagger pendant.

“Good evening, Bella. Sorry for the bother, but someone from my school wanted to meet you,” explained Draco.

Drifting with the grace of a phantom, she slowly circled Blaise but did not speak. Unblinking, the quiet vixen sniffed the nape of his neck before taking her leave.

“See your friend to the door, Draco,” she calmly directed. 

Blaise loosened his tie. “Well, this was an uneventful visit. No matter. I’ll have more time to study after I buy the skull.”

“Yes, terribly sorry for the disappointment,” snapped Draco, stomping out of the room. 

The pair walked in silence until they reached the manor’s massive wrought-iron gates. 

“My offer from last year to teach you wizard’s chess still stands,” Blaise sneered, extending his hand. “I’m sure it would help you make better moves.”

Draco refused the handshake. 

“Very well then, chap. Have yourself a lovely evening.”

Blaise envisioned Knockturn Alley and disappeared with a high-pitched crack. Instantly, he was whisked to his destination. Towering limestone buildings occupied the left side of the scorched pavement, while one-story rectangular ones were bunched together on the right. All had signs crudely written in crystallized troll saliva posted to their windows. 

“Maverick Mortuary Mill. Sinead’s Werewolf Furs. Counterfeit Wands by Coventry. The Goblin Market of Endangered Meats,” he read aloud, storming up and down the strip. “These are useless. Where’s Borgin and Burkes?”

Obsessively searching, Blaise hadn’t noticed the small crowd closing in on him. It was not until one of them loudly vomited slugs that he became aware of their presence. Dressed in tattered clothing, they begged for Galleons.

“I haven’t got any spare change.”

“Codswallop,” a bent-backed man growled. “Yer one o’ them Hogwarts students. Wouldn’t be here if ya weren’t planning ter buy things.”

“We’re happy to take it if you won’t give it,” added a fat woman holding a dead toad. 

Blaise took out his wand. “I’m warning you lot: I’ll kill whoever tries anything stupid.”

“I don’t reckon you’re quick enough,” a dwarf man in a moth-eaten poncho heckled, rapidly staggering.

“Serpensortia,” incanted Blaise.

The end of his wand sizzled and an albino rattlesnake shot out of it. Hissing, the oddly colored serpent coiled the dwarf’s ankle and bit him. He collapsed, his wounds smoking. 

“Ya can’t curse us all,” a toothless woman yelled. “Somebody, grab that wand!”

Grunting, the beggar collective brandished weapons and charged. A few had butcher knives, while others had brass knuckles and chains.

“Stupefy,” repeatedly chanted Blaise, stunning seven of them. 

Realizing the remaining stragglers had gained too much ground on him, he took off running down a hazy backstreet. Their slurred insults became fainter and fainter. Now only the hoots of owls were heard clearly. 

“I should’ve cast the Killing Curse,” Blaise huffed, sitting on an overturned shopping cart.

“Yet you didn’t,” responded a sultry voice.

A flurry of violet lights blasted Blaise against a brick wall.

“So, what was it that a sweet little boy like you wanted with me?”

A hooded figure wearing a long-sleeved, black lace wedding dress crept from the shadows. Using a wand made of walnut and dragon heartstring, the mysterious attacker forced Blaise’s chin up to look at them. They wore a titanium mask decorated with golden swirls and chrome vertical lip stitches. 

“I don’t even know who you are,” Blaise admitted, squirming under ribbons of glowing bondages that glued him to the wall. 

The facial covering evaporated. It was Bellatrix. 

Blaise gulped. “Draco showed me the Black family photo album a few weeks ago. I thought you were beautiful, and wanted...to s-s-see you in person.”

“Is that so? And what is the name of my secret admirer,” asked Bellatrix, flashing him a sinister smile that showcased her brown teeth.

“Blaise, Miss. Blaise Zabini.”

“Ah, yes. Amycus has mentioned your name before. I’m told you show great promise in the Dark Arts,” Bellatrix revealed. “You’re a pureblood, correct?”

“Yes, but my mother refuses to say who my father is. That’s why our name doesn’t appear in the directory. I…”

Blaise’s statement was cut short by Bellatrix slapping him across the face. 

“Do not volunteer information,” she roared, veins straining in her neck.

“Won’t happen again,” apologized Blaise.

Bellatrix pressed her nose to his, maintaining eye contact. “Rest assured, little boy: I have no romantic interest in you. However, should you prove to be as talented as Amycus claims, your blood could be useful to the Dark Lord’s future endeavors. Certain breeding arrangements could be made. Do you understand?”

Blaise nodded.

“Good. Just one more thing,” Bellatrix said, flicking her wand.

Blaise’s left arm rose. The tip of the Death Eater’s wand tapped his finger and a band burned around it. Blaise ignored the urge to wince, fearing punishment. 

“You cannot backout now; I’ll know where you are. Should I ever visit you, our meeting will hold precedence over everything else. Disregard that and I will kill you,” sanctioned Bellatrix.

Uncaring of Blaise’s response, she faded into a billowing fog and left him stranded.


End file.
